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MRS, BOYLE. Wantin' me; an* why do they
Want me?

MRS. MADIGAN. Some poor fella's been
found, an* they think it's, it's , . .

MRS. BOYLE. Johnny, Johnny!

MARY (with her arms round her mother). Oh,
mother, mother, me poor, darlin' mother.

MRS. BOYLE. Hush, hush, darlin*; you'll
shortly have your own throuble to bear. (To
MRS. MADIGAN) An' why do the polis think it's
Johnny, Mrs. Madigan?

MRS. MADIGAN. Because one o* the doctors
knew him when he was attendin' with his poor
arm.

MRS, BOYLE. Oh, it's thrue, then; it's
Johnny, it's me son, me own sonl

MARY. Oh, it's thrue, it's thrue what Jerry
Devine says—there isn't a God, there isn't a
God; if there was He wouldn't let these things
happen1

MRS. BOYLE. Mary, Mary, you musn't say
them things. We'll want all the help we can get
from God an' His Blessed Mother nowl These
things have nothin' to do with the Will o' God.
Ah, what can God do agen the stupidity o' menl

MRS. MADIGAN. The polis want you to go
with them to the hospital to see the poor body
—they're waitin* below.
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